


Pleasure

by somethinginbetween



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dark, Dark Arthur, Humiliation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, So Dark, im going to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethinginbetween/pseuds/somethinginbetween
Summary: Bruised and bloody, the figure below him was unbent. Cold iron surrounded his wrists. Blue defiant eyes stared up in anger. Arthur liked those eyes. But they would find no mercy here.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very graphic rape scene. Read at your own risk. I'm warning you.

Captured in the heat of battle, the dragon prince was brought before him and forced to his knees. Camelot had won this round. Two dragons had gone tumbling to the ground, spreading fear through the troops as they ran away. Camelot’s archers had followed their retreat, killing as many as they could. Arthur had killed the great dragon himself, bringing the prince who rode him into the mud to be shackled by his men.  
Hundreds of soldiers lay dead or dying outside the tent, their wails distant but echoing.

“Merlin Emerys. The famed future King of Mercia, the only son of King Balinor and Queen Hunith. Here. At my mercy.”

Bruised, and bloody, the figure below him was unbent. Blue defiant eyes stared up in anger. Cold iron surrounded his wrists. Arthur liked those eyes. Soon they would be filled with fear.

“You could end this war, you know. Bend the knee. Proclaim my right as leader and you could save thousands of lives.”

“So you enslave my people? Never.”

“Ah.” Arthur shifted in excitement, “Well, if that is the case, there are...other arrangements we could make. You have knowledge, I’m sure. Of Mercia’s strengths...and of her weaknesses.”

“Mercia has no weaknesses.”

Arthur’s lip quirked at the lie.

“I’m sure there are some. And we have people who can tease it out of you. Leemon is quite handy with a knife, Sulvan knows every poison in this world.”

If the boy was scared, his words did not betray him, “You can do whatever you want. I promise you, you’ll get nothing from me.”

Arthur studied him for a second. The boy before him was tough, battle hardened. He was prepared to withstand fire, knives, torture of every kind. But there are other ways to gain dominion over a person.

“Take him to my chambers. Tell them to ensure he is properly washed and tie him to my bedpost.”

The man’s eyes flew wide as he began to understand but they were already dragging him away before Arthur could savor the look.

His slaves knew him well enough to have everything carefully prepared. The fire was burning, candles lit, and Merlin was naked, lying spread eagle on the bed, a bottle of oil lying on the side table.

Arthur took his time, stripping off his clothes. He was in no rush.  
One of the slaves drew a bath and he lazily sunk in, allowing the warmth to seep through his body and wash off all the grit and grime of battle. He’d sustained multiple cuts and bruises, and his shoulder throbbed where his shield had been wrested from his grip. No matter. The war would be won soon. Mercia was a small kingdom, kept alive only by their magic. In truth, they should have been destroyed months ago, but no matter. With cold iron and dragon slayers, they would soon be snuffed out.

Arthur rose from the bath and a slave rose to dry him. The blue eyes on the bed feigned disinterest, but Arthur could sense the anxiety underneath that cool facade. 

Arthur poured out some of the oil and began to message it into the boy’s ass. The angle was awkward, but he preferred a view of their face. Merlin’s was still. So still, not showing any emotions or giving any hint of what he might be feeling.  
Arthur would soon break him of that.  
The muscle underneath his fingers was beginning to soften and Arthur inserted his finger.  
Merlin’s face was a mask.  
Arthur was beginning to bore of this impassivity, “If you tell me to stop, Dragon Prince, I’ll stop.”  
Merlin looked down at him hesitantly. Arthur inserted another finger, a little too soon if he judged correctly.  
“Stop.” The boy said.  
Arthur pushed in deeper, scissoring his fingers, “You could ask me a little bit nicer.”  
The boy returned to his mask, and Arthur was disappointed to find he’d picked up on his game too fast. The last magic user he’s had in his bed had been screaming the world stop as he’d climaxed. It had all been quite amusing. Alas, he’d had to make a gift of him to a high lord for helping to win him the river closest to Mercia’s borders.

Arthur took his time preparing the boy. Although pain was one way of conquering someone, pleasure was by far a more demeaning failure, and a more satisfying victory to score. It was a while before Arthur could get a third finger comfortably in. 

“Are you a virgin, Prince of Dragons?”

As expected, no reply came.

“Ah. I bet you are. King Balinor will be so unhappy to hear your purity is being ruined by a Pendragon. Although plenty of magic users have lost their purity to my kind.”

He slowly began to push into that sweet tightness.

“Do you know what we do to magic users, when we capture them?” Merlin’s head was turned toward the side, cut off from all emotion, but his eyes were closed, “No, no no. Keep your eyes open, my dear.”

Merlin continued to close his eyes and Arthur felt a flicker of annoyance. He shoved in, too rough and too fast, and Merlin’s eyes flew open blazing yellow, reaching for magic that wasn’t there. 

“Look at those pretty, pretty eyes of yours.” Merlin snapped them closed. No matter. He’d see them again.

“When we capture magic users, we don’t put them to death.” Arthur began to slowly thrust in and out. In and out. “I’m not a brute, Merlin. Plus, good slaves are hard to come by. And you magic users are tough, so tough. I’ve seen many a magic user’s innards spilt out onto my throne room and yet they still struggle to live. We burn iron bands into their wrists and sell them off to the highest bidder. The attractive ones we turn into bed slaves. The ugly ones we send down into the salt mines, but not before whipping them bloody. The salt dust flies into the air and sticks to their wounds. It's only what they deserve. You can't trust a magic-user.”  
He kept a slow pace. There was no rush to finish. The boy was getting hard, Arthur saw with satisfaction.  
“Can you guess which one you are, Dragon Prince?”  
He did not respond. Beads of sweat covered his brow. His eyes were still closed, Arthur noticed with disappointment. “You look absolutely beautiful my Prince. You were made to be fucked.” Merlin’s cock began to leak precome.  
“You like this, don’t you?” Arthur smirked to himself, “You feel so good around my cock. What would they say? The Dragon Prince, they call you. Brave, fearless, and above all, proud. You lead thousands of soldiers and they follow you because they believe in you."  
He tweeted his nipples, and watched them plump up to his satisfaction, "What would they say if they saw you naked, hanging off my cock, loving every moment of it. What would they think of you now?  
He was close, Arthur could tell. He stroked the boy’s cock, “Why don’t you just say my name poppet. Arthur Pendragon. Call it out so everyone can hear you. Be my little whore. Announce to the world that Arthur Pendragon has ruined you forever.”  
Merlin shuttered his release, spilling all over his belly. A whimper escaped him, but no name. Arthur ground his teeth.  
“Alright, you little slut. Next time I’ll have you begging for it. He withdrew his cock and shoved it in the boy’s mouth, forcing it downward. Merlin tried to bite him, but Arthur was ready for it, and his fingers prevented any pain as he climaxed.

Arthur snapped and the slaves came to attend them. They tied Merlin down next to him because Arthur wasn’t going to let the most valuable hostage of the war leave his sight.

Late in the night, when Merlin probably thought he was asleep, Arthur heard silent sobs from the other side of his bed. He smiled to himself.

Merlin came into that throne room ready for any harsh torture in the world. But pleasure…. pleasure can kill you just the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Rape. His first sexual experiences had been rape. Continually and repeatedly. Merlin had given no consent, and would not give consent in the future, no matter how Arthur prompted him to beg for it. He knew what was happening to him depicted no fault or defect of his person, but even as he repeated it to himself like a mantra, the violation of his body felt humiliating. 

None of the slaves would meet his eye. They didn’t respond when he spoke to them, and shuffled along quietly with their duties. But he saw the iron bands burned into their skin. Arthur promised that he was going to burn a pair into him soon, unless he revealed some truth about Mercia's magic border.

He was fed barely to not at all and kept in shackles. It was some pride to him that they feared him even now. Every so often, Arthur would invite a man to come and torture him with a knife, looking for information about Mercia’s weak points. Although, Arthur always warned against his face, “I like him pretty.”  
He would sit and watch with a glass of wine as Merlin screamed and screamed.  
But even as a red hot knife was thrust into his hand, Merlin’s replies were the same: Mercia has no weak points.

But as bad as the knives were, the praise was worse. To those his body reacted. Merlin wasn’t a stranger to the knowledge that different people had different sexual perversions. It would make sense for him to have a few, if not a dozen. It was nothing to be ashamed of at all. But the humiliation Pendragon brought upon him every night chipped at him. As his body betrayed him again and again, he began to fear that soon, he would cry out Arthur’s name. And that was when more sinister questions would be asked to him.

Every night, Merlin closed his eyes and searched for his magic. Every night he couldn’t find it and went somewhere else. Struggling was useless, the knots were tied too damn tight. But he closed his eyes and pretended it was Morgana or Will who was touching him. And every night the visions faltered as Arthur whispered horrific details about the treatment of magic users in Camelot. Arthur enjoyed his suffering. And as much as Merlin attempted to close his face off, some emotions crept through. Even on the good days when he’d closed off his emotions, Arthur would just punish him harder, looking for an expression to satisfy him. He’d made it through a session one time without a peep and Arthur had strapped him to a wooden horse and had someone fuck him all night with an iron rod.

He knew the Prince had offered his life for the allegiance of Mercia. But his mother and father must not bend the knee. Any deal with a Pendragon was a rotten one indeed. If Arthur or his father were allowed inside that city, they would wipe magic from the face of the earth. Every user put to death or slavery. But his parents must have known that, because here Merlin stayed. What was his life against thousands? 

One day after a session, Merlin sagged on the wooden cross that held him up. His arm had burns in a decorative pattern. Blood and spunk ran down his leg. Nobody had to tell him that he wasn’t doing so great. But he hadn’t revealed anything. Mercia has no weaknesses.

Two slaves came to him. They untied him from the rack he was on and he slumped into their arms, unable to hold himself up. But all of a sudden he was falling, and another body fell beside him, bleeding out. A young woman above him flipped him over and shook him, “Sire? Sire!”  
“Yes?” Merlin slurred.  
“Are you conscious, Sire?”  
He switched to high alert, “Who are you?”  
The woman drew a heavy battle axe from behind the folds of a tent. For a second, he thought she meant to kill him but instead she slammed it on the chains between his hands. It took ten strokes to strike them in half. But the cuffs still remained, his magic was still lost.  
“You don’t know me. But I used to fight for you. I was captured about a year ago. But we don’t have the time. Arthur will return.”  
She began to undress the corpse next to her, “Help me with him.” Together they lifted the dead man onto the bed. She positioned him spread eagle and tied him down.  
“Don’t feel bad for him. He would have sold us out to get put in a better position. Put his clothes on.”  
He was in too much shock and pain to do anything but obey. She handed him a metal file and pulled a knife from the folds of her attire.  
She sank the blade deep into her arm. Merlin found a leather belt for her to bite down on. He didn’t know if he could trust this person, but she was the only hope he had.  
The blood pooled down her arm as she worked the iron out, “Hurt like a bitch when they put it in, hurts like a bitch to get out.”  
“Do you need help?”  
“Yes.” She hissed, wrestling the circular ring with flesh off her hand, “See if you can get those fucking iron chains off so we can get out of here.”  
He began working the file through the iron. It barely made a dent.  
The woman muffled her scream as she sunk the knife into her other arm. Merlin lit a candle, and held the cuff over the flame. Damn the pain. There’d be far more if they were discovered.  
“What’s your name anyway?” He asked her.  
“Freya. Of House Lint.” She panted, working the blade around and under the iron band.  
The Lints were an old house. Proud, but poor. “Well, Freya of House Lint, when we get out of here, I’ll declare you a knight.”  
“You were always so funny. Even when all of us were about to die.”  
“The closer to death you are, the funnier life becomes.” Merlin winced as the metal around his already chafed wrists began to burn. He grabbed the file and worked it faster. It was closer.  
He was bleeding, but Freya worse. Merlin looked around the room. It was covered in blood. The boy’s, Freya’s, his.  
Merlin grabbed the axe and slammed the butt down on the cuff and the crack completed. He bent the metal. Black spots danced across his eyes as the jagged edges met his burns. But he was a soldier. Pain, he could stand, it was a part of his life.  
With a yelp, Freya removed the other iron band. Blood dripped down her arm. Merlin found a sheet and ripped it into strips, tying it around her arm to stanch the bleeding.  
He reached to bandage the other arm but Freya brushed him aside, “There’s no time for that now. We have to get out of here. Freya cast an illusion spell across the room. She was powerful. He could have done better, but it would hold. At first glance the room appeared normal. The boy even looked alive and a little like him. But if you looked a little closer, you’d see the blood and the corpse.  
Blood ran down Freya’s arms, “Are you okay?” He asked.  
She grit her teeth, “Peachy.”  
She cast another illusion spell over them, and then they walked out. The guards didn’t give them a second glance. Fools.  
Merlin had done his best to memorize the tents when they had first dragged him in, but soon he was hopelessly lost. They passed soldiers, slaves, and high lords, but none gave them a second glance. He took notice of all, noting their resources and the numbers. A path of blood from Freya’s arms trailed behind them, but the illusion charm held.  
“Can’t you heal?”  
“I never studied that brand of magic.” She winced, “To my regret. We’re going to need to find a place to get that iron off of you. They have guards patrolling the entire camp. We’re not going to get out with a simple appearance cham, we’d need invisibility. And I’m not strong enough.”  
“I could do it.”  
“I know you could.”  
They arrived at a large tent and Freya smiled at the guards, “Polishing the good Prince’s armor.”  
They scowled at her and let them through. Freya sat down, looking pale. She wrapped cloth around her wounds, adding pressure. Merlin sat beside her, working through the other cuff. If he could just get his magic back, he could heal her.  
The time trickled past. Merlin’s arm was throbbing at the continuous motion.  
He was halfway through when the woman slumped forward. The blood at her wrists was pooling around her, “No no no.” He said, propping her up, “Don’t do that. We’re almost home free. If I could get this bloody chain off, I can heal you.”  
“If.” She said.  
“When. Look, I’m halfway through the last cuff. Just a little longer.”  
She gave no response. He had to get her talking, “So what happened to you, Freya of House Lint?”  
Still no response. She looked too pale. Merlin continued filing, “I am Merlin Emrys the dragonlord. I am your Prince and you will tell me your story.  
Freya moaned, “Captured in battle. My house couldn’t afford me a dragon, so I was in the cavalry. I followed you into battle half a dozen times. The fifth time, though. It was the Battle of Lurono. My horse fell atop me and I was knocked out. I woke up in chains-”  
She lapsed into silence and her eyes shut.  
“Hey.” He prodded her with his elbow, “What are you doing?”  
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m dying.”  
“You’re not to die on me, Freya of House Lint. I want to hear the rest. I have ordered it.”  
“There are some things even kings have no control over. The metal is burnt so deep. One of my friends tried it and he bled out while our master raped him against the wall.”  
The file broke through the chain and through sheer force of will, he ripped it off of his wrist. His magic returned to him and his eyes flew wide. It felt like a drowning man taking his first breath. It felt right.  
He laid his hands on Freya’s arm, but she’d already lost so much blood. She looked up at him, “I was never going to make it.”  
He sent more magic through her but he could feel her slipping, “It’s fine.” She said, “It is better to live in search of freedom, than to die a slave.”  
She struggled to breathe, “And I am a soldier. I know how the war is going. Mercia is losing. If Arthur wins, he’ll slaughter all the dragons, burn the kingdom to the ground, and enslave all of our people. One soldier wouldn’t make a difference. But you’re the Prince of Dragons. You can turn the tide of the war. Promise me you will.”  
“I promise.” He said to her. “I promise.”  
She looked at him, smiled, and left.  
Outside, bells began to ring and he heard sounds of a commotion, “The Prince is missing.” Someone cried out.  
Merlin cast an invisibility spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment, if you would.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you entirely at his mercy, then hope like hell that man is an evil man. Because the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you're going to die. So they'll talk. They'll gloat.
> 
> They'll watch you squirm. They'll put off the moment of murder like another man will put off a good cigar.
> 
> So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.”
> 
> -Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett

The final battle, the singers were calling it. The battle to decide the future of Mercia once and for all.  
Arthur’s forces had surrounded the translucent blue barrier. Far enough away not to be touched by archers, but close enough so the threat was never forgotten. They had even made the unfortunate discovery that they could weaken the border by scattering iron filings along the edge. And although Mercian patrols always moved to kill them and sweep the shards away, more came every day.  
The barrier used to encompass many leagues, but it had shrunk as King Balinor had felt the need to consolidate his power. Very few leagues remained to the kingdom.  
Thousands of peasants huddled within the city, with barely enough magic between them to lift a cat. They’d be killed anyway, Merlin knew. Queen Hunith watched over them, ready to shield them should her husband and son fall.  
They’d assembled every man and woman willing and able to fight and still Pendragon had thrice the number of troops.  
Merlin stood at the battle table next to his father. King Balinor was looking greyer by the day. The boarder he’d established was fast leeching his power  
To the dismay of some of his captains, King Balinor had decided to attack.  
“Their main operation is in front, but he hopes to catch us unawares. At other points in the border he has placed iron patrols that come back no matter how often we send them off. If we sit around and wait for him to attack us at full force, we’d have lost before the battle begins. We need to strike, and we need to strike them now.”  
The plan was to attack first, allow a portion of Arthur’s forces inside, then close the barrier, allowing for Mercian forces to finish them off and recuperate. Some dragons would be sent initially to warm them up. Aithusa was pure white, on the smaller side, but one of his quickest. She should be able to outfly any of Camelot’s scorpion quarrels, and even the best archers would have trouble hitting such a small target. Aithusia was a fine dragon, but their bond was still shaky. He sorely missed Kilgharrah, but soon put that thought out of his mind. It was no use thinking of the past. There was only forward.  
It was too early for the sun to rise when he began the attack. Three other dragon riders followed him, blasting the camp with hot flames. After two passes, Merlin signaled to return to the barrier. Too many scorpions had felled their dragons. Their once proud fleet of twenty had dwindled down to seven, with one a hatchling, and two too old to fight. They’d left them with the queen as a means of escape should the day turn on them.  
Scorpion bolts followed them as they retreated high into the air, Merlin heard a roar of pain and looked down to see a bolt had hit one of the dragon’s legs. The beast wobbled, but continued to fly. They’d be out of range soon. If they could just make it to the barrier, healers could look at the wound. But he could not deceive himself that the dragon would be fine. Lately, the bolts had been laced with poison that had caused the wounds to fester and burn. They’d lost one a fortnight past even though it had only been a graze.  
They still had two dragons fit for war. Two dragons were better than no dragons.

It was morning by the time Camelot’s troops had assembled. They stood, stock-still outside the wall. Mercian soldiers stared back at them farther away. Arthur had sent forward a turtle to rub iron fillings on the wall, but Aithusia and Merlin had roasted them alive inside. He had not tried again.  
Balinor, high on the hill, overlooked the battle.  
Balinor didn’t know the details of his son’s captivity with the Camelot Prince. When Merlin had been lost after the battle, Balinor had feared the worst. When they’d rejected the terms that laid out a plan for the complete surrender of Mercia, the death of all dragons, and the burning of any and all archives in the kingdom, Hunith had given their son up for dead.  
But Merlin had returned. Dirty and staving, with deep cuts oozing blood and pus, but all in one piece.  
He’d been different. Less carefree. He still smiled, and joked but it seemed fake. As if he was trying to be someone he wasn’t anymore.

Balinor raised his hand, and a part of the barrier went down.

Merlin had studied more about magic than swords, but he knew how to wield one. Paired with his magic, he knew how to stay alive in battle. Camelot soldiers surged forward, bottlenecking at the barrier. Mercian soldiers went to meet them, but not too far. The battle became a red blur. He lost himself in the fight, as opponents came up and down, different men and women rose and fell beside him. Prince Arthur was not among the soldiers. Merlin sensed a trap. For all his brutality, the cruel prince never missed a battle. He was relieved when the barrier began to flicker back on.  
“Press them!” He yelled above the din, and his soldiers began moving forward, trapping Camelot troops.

Balinor watched with satisfaction as Camelot troops smashed against the wall. Other soldier, helpless, trying fruitlessly to get inside. But then he sensed a different force on the barrier, to his right and a distance from the battle. Iron fillings. The patrols he had marching, would they be enough? Balinor sent a company down from his already sparse guard force when he felt another pull, this one to his left. Balinor had a bitter feeling about this. He sent a dragonrider to take care of the force.  
Below, Merlin’s soldiers were overtaking Camelot troops but to his right, the barrier broke.  
He sent a red flare up, warning Merlin of the danger, before mounting Aithusia and flying to the break. If Mercian forces were caught between Camelot forces, they’d be done. His queen would hold the barrier and do her best to get the children out, but there was only so much she could do. He caught sight of Camelot troops fighting soldiers and instantly comprehended they wouldn’t have enough. Thousands of soldiers were pushing into the gap. He had to stem the tide. He beamed downward and made a fiery pass. Below him, men died as their armor melted to their skins.   
It wasn’t near enough. Scorpion bolts flew past him and he flew beyond their reach. He beamed downward, aiming for the row of scorpions, but one released before Aithusia’s fiery breath could reach it and a quarrel took her in the mouth. The small dragon folded instantly to the ground and Balinor had to use what precious little magic he had left to cushion his fall.  
Disoriented, he moved to pick himself up. His leg was twisted in a bad direction. Men in red stood all around him and although Balinor drew his sword and sent a force spell forward, something stabbed his neck and everything went black.

The barrier gave a shudder and disappeared. Instantly, Merlin knew something was wrong with his father. The soldiers they’d pinned surged backward, and were quickly replaced by fresh troops. Then he heard something behind him. A terrifying sound. Merlin turned around. Fresh Camelot troops were charging them, Prince Arthur leading them.  
He grit his teeth. If this was how it ended, then fine. But he’d rather die than be captured again. He cast a protection spell around his troops and called out a formation.  
And Camelot troops crashed into them. Merlin didn’t think about his father, didn’t think about the huddled masses back at the castle, he only acted. Instinct saved him more than once.  
And all of a sudden the Prince was in front of him leering, “Hello again.”  
Merlin grit his teeth and charged.  
The Prince met his swing, “Is that anyway to meet your master?”  
Merlin feared to throw a spell at him for weakening the protective charm around his troops, instead spinning away to create space.  
Their swords clashed again. Merlin aimed for his chest but Arthur parried, “Don’t you miss me, pretty bird? I bet your bed is feeling awful cold lately. And I’ve missed your lithe little body.”  
Merlin slammed his shoulder against Arthur shield and he stumbled backward.  
“Getting feisty, aren’t we? Don’t you think you should save it for afterward?” He sliced forward with his blade, “Have you told anyone? Told any of your men how much you like my cock?”  
Arthur was far better with a sword Merlin realized as he did his best to defend the rapid attacks. And still, the man talked.  
“You looked so good in my bed darling, plump lips panting, legs spread wide, practically begging for it like the wanton whore you are.”  
Merlin feigned right and cut upward, managing a cut at the elbow, but Arthur’s sword met his before it could do any real damage.  
“And your orgasm sweetheart. Was nothing so sweet to hear those slutty slutty gasps from your mouth that you tried to hide.”  
Merlin noticed a pair of chains hidden in Arthur’s armor. Iron.  
“I bet you finger yourself at night, wishing it was me. You thrust and thrust and thrust but somehow your slender fingers never reach that lovely little spot inside you that I could always find. How you wish for my cock to please you and ruin your purity again.”  
Arthur’s blade flashed lower and slammed him in the leg. If not for the charm, his leg would have been severed. As it was, the blade left only a small cut and bruise. If Arthur noticed the lack of damage, he didn’t show it.  
Arthur was playing with him, he realized in an instant. He could have aimed for his side, hit his ribs or something else vital and ended it all. But here he still was.  
“Come on harlot, take your armor off and come sit on my lap. My men will leave us quite alone. I’ll finger you open slowly, carefully of course. And you’ll ease your way on. I know how much your nipples love me, so I’ll give them a little nip and watch them plump up. Just how we used to do it.  
As he heard the cries of battle around him, Merlin realized that in the end, it didn’t matter how long they played defense.  
“We’d start slow of course. Full length thrusts to watch you come undone. But soon you’ll beg for more and, ever indulgent, I’ll speed up, if only to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head as you lose yourself.”  
Ending the threat was the only way to win. How many of his troops would die because he lifted this spell? He didn’t know.   
“You’ll send your cries to the sky, announcing your shame to the world as you spill yourself. Scream the name that you’ll never forget over and over, Arthur Pendragon, Arthur Pendragon.”  
Merlin retracted the protective charm and sent a force spell forward. The Prince went flying on his back. Merlin walked to him, ripped off his gorget and sunk a blade through his neck, “Arthur Pendragon.” He hissed.  
Nothing had ever given him so much pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
